


waiting in this cell because i have to

by diktynna



Category: Bernice Summerfield (Big Finish Audio), Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 02:13:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13113795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diktynna/pseuds/diktynna
Summary: Brax tries to reason with an absent guard, Benny throws a shoe, and proper museum behaviour was NOT adhered to.





	waiting in this cell because i have to

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Multiple_Universes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multiple_Universes/gifts).



> For Multiple_Universes / witharthurkirkland, for the 2017 Classic Who Secret Santa, who requested "Bernice Summerfield and Irving Braxiatel - pretty much anything with these two having a bit of a fight or a sarcastic match."
> 
> It's shorter than I intended because the larger overall plot refused to come together no matter what I did to it. I hope you enjoy.

Even standing in a prison cell with a bruise blooming on his chin, Irving Braxiatel managed to look just as put together as if he was sitting behind his desk in that office of his that wasn’t really an office but a very office-looking control room for his “time equipment,” as the Fifth Axis had called it. He called it a TARDIS. Benny called it “been here all along and could’ve taken me to any time but no you didn’t even though you probably used it to take the real Versailles out of time and put it here,” but preferred to use TARDIS for short because criticism didn’t fly over Brax’s head, it flowed somewhere down around his feet like a Red Sea of suggestion parting for all the attention he payed it.

Maybe if he had payed attention to _this_ , they wouldn’t be in a prison cell.

Benny glowered at him and then rolled her eyes back to the ceiling, where she had been counting all the marks on it. Damn, she thought. Now she had to start over and she had already been upward of thirteen thousand.

“—really. If you would just let me explain … ”

She put Brax’s voice out of her head. It was, after all, his fault. If he hadn’t needed to touch the bloody thing to figure out if it was real or not, then they wouldn’t have been in this mess.

“—may I at least speak to the curator of the museum? I can assure him that—”

It didn’t matter how much she tried to block his voice out, it wouldn’t work. The guards weren’t here to be talked to, to be reasoned with, or to have anything to do with people occupying the cells other than looking fiercely intimidating and very much like they were capable of putting people down and making them stay down.

If there was a pillow in this cell, Benny would have thrown it at him. Or wrapped it around her face and ears and scream into it. Unfortunately there was a distinct lack of pillows and blankets, leaving the metal cot she lay on uncomfortable in the extreme.

Instead she threw one of the annoying, strappy, heeled contraptions that passed as shoes she had been forced to wear because of the dress code at his head.

It hit his shoulder.

“Benny, _really_.”

“Shut up,” she said, dragging out the vowels. “No one’s listening to you except for me and I don’t want to be listening to you.”

He bristled and Benny took pity on him for a moment. Poor Brax, she thought, no one to pontificate at, no one to gently lecture.

“I don’t see you having any bright ideas,” said Braxiatel.

Bugger, double bugger, and bollocks. Now he was going to lecture her. Accompanying Brax to auction houses were one thing, but apparently he completely threw out proper procedure when he visited museums.

Benny scoffed. “ _My_ bright idea was _not to touch the irreplaceable and very old spearhead_.”

Brax waved a hand. “I was wearing gloves.”

“Oh, because the oils and flakes of skin are really what security is concerned about when you _pick up an artefact_.” Normally, security would be very concerned about it. They were just more concerned about people absconding with the artefact in question. “I can’t believe that you would pick up the bloody Lance of Longinus.”

“You said the provenance was uncertain. I was trying to make it clearer.”

“You have a time machine! Make the provenance certain with that!”

“My TARDIS is not for fun and games, Bernice.”

“You run a museum and you think that you don’t need to know the record of an artefact? What kind of barn were you raised in that you think you can just pick it up?”

“I was not the one raised in a barn!” Brax rounded on her, eyes flashing.

“No, you just forgot that you don’t actually own everything in the universe!”

“Bernice, I am _trying_ to find a way for us to get out of here.” He raised a hand to cover his eyes, looking very put-upon.

“Urgh,” said Benny, flopping back down on the metal cot. She pulled her other shoe off and cradled it to her chest just in case the need for future ammunition arose.

“What’s wrong with a barn?” The question was said in an indignant voice. It was followed by the scraping sound of what was hopefully a key or lock picks.

Benny shot up, lost her other shoe, and practically shoulder-checked Brax out of the way. “Doctor!”

It was Brax’s turn to go “Urgh,” just as the door swung open.

“It’s a fake anyway,” said the Doctor airily, leading them down the corridor. “Jo and I replaced it at Uppsala in 141.”

Braxiatel made a noise like a strangled cat.


End file.
